It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

Shame and Fear still stand guard over my efforts to chase dreams
Will those on the left upset about Halliburton now go after Obama?
Real-life ‘ghost story’: The tale of a house that didn’t want me there
Door in my dream keeps trying to take me to the life I’ve needed
I love my iPad, but I suspect that books are better for ‘deeper’ learning
I felt shame for my lack of love, but God said, ‘You can do better’
Each experience of beauty and love stands alone, different from the rest
My own question now faced me: ‘Would a healthy person do that?’
Conservatives don’t understand liberal groups — and vice versa